Colors
by Soimcoolwithlife
Summary: The one where Connor has synesthesia and is dying and Will is trying to cope with both their feelings.(Rhodestead)
1. Chapter 1

**Quick note. Sickness is not what is seems was not meant to be a multi chapter fanfic, but I will eventually update that after Faults, and other ideas floating in my brain. This is a multi chap. Oh, and to be clear, my pairings: I don't mind, but I don't really like: Connor and Reese, Jeff and Natalie, Natalie and Will, Connor and Robyn. I don't mind them, I'll read them, I might even right them, but I just don't see it. My OTPs (and yes, I'm aware it's completely weird to have overlap of one person in OTPs): Cheese/Roi(Choi and Reese), Connalie(Connor and Natalie), and Rhodestead(Will and Connor). Yeah, I'm like the only one who ships Connalie, and yes, I did make a ship name for Choi and Reese. Hope you enjoy, review! If I get 12 reviews that are not just 'I like update' or something, like actual reviews or suggestions for a new story about Whump on Dr. Rhodes, I will update Faults by 3/15/17. Just to answer a question that someone is going to ask me. Yeah, I have a thing for really hot looking guys with chest problems(asthma, pneumonia, cancer, infection). Review and Enjoy!(It's not betaed cause I was excited.)**

He had taken the job because of the colors.

1\. Med

The hospital's name was fire, an orangey red with streaks of yellow. The word Chicago was grey, but not in a sad way. It was a bold grey, if grey could be bold. It wasn't necessarily happy, but it had joy. The second he heard the nickname, he had to go.

2\. Ms. Goodwin

Ms. Goodwin was maroon. A dark, deep red that showed no mercy but a whole lot of love. When she called him, he instantly knew that she was in control.

3\. Ethan

Ethan was a dark blue. Dark, dark, dark blue, deeper than navy. He had streaks of red running through, and just by the name, Connor could tell he was a soldier. Obeying orders, stained with blood, but new again.

4\. Reese

She was blue, a light blue like a robin's egg. Gorgeous blue, enchanting him. She was kind, young and just a bit naive, he could tell by her name.

5\. Maggie

Maggie was purple, so purple. She was a marbled purple, of violets and colors close to indigo. She was swirly, warm and cold at the same time, he knew already.

6\. Dr. Charles

Dr. Charles was green and brown. A lightish brown, with very thin stripes of camo green. He was calming, at first glance boring, always safe, but intriguing. He didn't even have to look at him to know he would always be fine.

7\. April

April was silver. A smooth, shimmery silver, metallic and flowing, while being bold. She knew her place but she sure as hell was ready to step out of it. She would always be that, he knew just by her name.

8\. Latham

Dr. Latham was grey. Stone grey, matte and concrete like. He was every emotionless, without a doubt, and it wasn't the autism, it was just him, Connor knew.

9\. Natalie

Natalie was one of his favorite colors. Gorgeous gold. Gold with streaks of pink, soft pink, light blue, violet, and light orangey red tones. She was a sunset, perfect to look at, never ignore. She was never a storm, he had learned that.

10\. Will

Will, his favorite of all. His color was green. Not just green, but different greens, tinged with so many colors and patterns. He absorbed all the colors from around him, making everything look black and white compared to his neons. He was bright, always moral. He was not the brain, who made he smart choice. He was never the heart, who kept them beating, nor the skeleton to keep them from falling, nor the muscle to keep them standing. He was the soul. He was the moral decision maker, always right even when he wasn't correct. Will was everyone and everything, with love and passion scooped into the mix.

+1 Connor

Will's POV

He knew what color Connor was. He was black and blue. He was the beaten, he was the weak. He was the ever doubting one. He never found himself in the right situations, and he had to save everyone, but never himself. Will didn't even have synesthesia, but he could tell. Connor was broken but never bleeding, Connor was the self sacrificing son of a bitch who was always a hero. He wouldn't do anything he didn't deserve, or thought he didn't deserve. But Connor was also a hero, broken he may be. He was a dark force. He was royal. Black and blue, blue and black. That was Connor Rhodes.

 **~CM~**

Everyone was pissed. Connor had called in sick, the night when they had the warehouse fire and so many goddamn victims. He had called in _sick._ Really? So yeah, halfway through shift they called him and told him to get himself to the hospital, sick or not. So he had come, started working on triage, and when the chaos died down, he disappeared.

But now, as all he patients had been treated and Dr. Stohl was giving them a lecture on the auditorium stage, he could not see why Connor called in sick. Connor looked like he had a headache, like a really bad one. But no matter what, headaches were not an excuse when lives had to be saved.

He watched Dr. Stohl prance about the stage, and glanced to his left, at Natalie, and to up a few rows to the right, Connor. He was not taking notes, like they were supposed to, but discretely trying to cover his ears. Dr. Stohl was being very loud.

When the session was finally over and they were back in the ED, Connor was near them, trying to fill out a patients chart. Suddenly, sirens started outside, and the announcement of a minor car crash was on the speakers. Near them, a patient's monitor started beeping, and doctors rushed in, yelling.

A quick glance at Connor showed Will and Natalie a grim sight. He had squeezed his eyes shut, and was in pain. Migraine? Maybe. The next instant, the monitors stopped and Connor looked like he could breathe again. But no, they were going to get to the bottom of this. He and Natalie locked gazes, intent on finding what was up with Connor.

 **~CM~**

They had found him in the break room, and he looked like hell. He was sitting on the couch, an untouched bottle of water in front of him. He was covering his eyes, and trying not to hear a sound.

When they had closed the door, rather loudly, he flinched and covered his eyes again. His behavior was obviously off.

"Migraine?" Will asked, sitting down near him.

"Shh," Connor replied. Will just rated his eyebrows.

"Migraine, hangover, what?" Will teased, concern lacing his tone. Connor just squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

"Shh..." he pleaded, desperate.

"Connor, what's wrong? We can help," Natalie's voice was soothing. Connor was still flinching at every alarm, eyes covered and closed tightly.

"Synesthesia. Migraine," he said, through clenched teeth.

Will and Natalie shared a glance. They didn't know Connor had synesthesia. Obviously, the migraine had amplified everything.

"What do you want us to do?" Will asked gently, softly.

"Sedate me."

Natalie grabbed a syringe from the nurses desk and plunged it into Connor's arm. Almost instantly he passed out, looking much more peaceful.

 **~CM~**

"Did you know Connor had synesthesia?" He asked Natalie, worried. After they had sedated Connor, they had run a few tests and something was wrong. He was sick, it wasn't just a migraine. A fever was raging, and at 103.3, they wondered how he was awake all day. Closer inspection led to the fact that his pulse was thready. His breathing was fast, his blood pressure low. The few times he came back to consciousness before they sedated him again, he looked confused and in pain. Every sound made him flinch, but it was like he didn't know why.

They had run tests for hours, eventually figuring out Connor had septic shock. Of course, they only figured that out after they had hooked up Connor to monitors and various machines. They didn't figure it out until he stopped breathing. They didn't figure it out until he flatlined. They didn't figure it out until he was seizing. They figured it out after his lungs failed, after he was hooked up to a vent in a medically induced coma. Of course they did.

Hours and hours, almost a day had gone by, and Connor was not even getting better. Will felt a responsibility to sit next to Connor, just to sit there. Natalie had given him a sad smile.

"No, he would never tell. Text me if he changes. Make sure they give him the right IV fluids. You know how the ICU nurses are," she said, almost joking. She sneezed Connor's hand one last time and started to walk out of his room, but not without a sly comment.

"You two are cute together."

 **~CM~**

He had been holding Connor's hand for an eternity now. Connor looked so peaceful, not happy, but just resting. He never knew Connor had synesthesia, and it made him feel off. He should have known. He didn't know quite why, but it was something about the doctor.

Oh god, he knew what it was. He liked Dr. Rhodes. Not liked. _Liked._ Yeah, he could see it. The eyes, such blue irises were rare, and he couldn't help stare into them. Connor's dark brown hair was perfect too. He could just run his fingers through it. And yeah, the doctor's body had him looking twice. When Connor had pinned him against the elevator, oh god, he was strong and so close. And Connor as a person, he was amazing. Stubborn, confident in his work but not himself, emotionally compromised, verbally if not physically abused as a child, yeah, he had some bad things about him. But he was strong, and he knew his strengths and weaknesses. He just needed someone to lift him up when he shot himself down. Will wanted, no, he needed to be that person.

Now he knew where all of this was coming from. He had feelings for the doctor. Feelings that probably weren't requited. Connor just wouldn't like him like that.

But that didn't stop Will from gripping Connor's hand a little tighter as he fell asleep.

 **~CM~**

Will woke up to the frantic beeping of monitors. It took him a second to realize those were Connor's. He looked at Connor, checking him over, seeing his pulse was skyrocketing every second. Connor's eyes were wide open, and he was freaking out. Will realized that the monitors were ever so loud, and that was not helping Connor's quickly hit the button to mute the monitors, and watched as Connor slowly calmed down.

Connor had been in a coma in the ICU for bordering 2 weeks. They had told Will that Connor was almost healed, so that morning they had given him the anti-sedative.

That was when Connor seized. It wasn't the most normal type of seizure, where some of the muscles would contract, leaving them shaking about. No, Connor wasn't convulsing. It was like every muscle in his body tensed. His back arched like someone was pulling his chest with a giant magnet. It was horrifying. It was probably the combination of the fever and the medicines, combined with a migraine and synesthesia, it just added up.

He pushed haldol. Connor stopped seizing, and Will took a breath.

"Thank god I love you, Rhodes, or I would have to kill you for doing that."

He murmured under his breath, smiling.

That was when he noticed Connor was awake. And then, the hacking started. Connor couldn't breathe, the ventilator was supposed to make it easy, but now that he was healed, the tube stuck down his throats didn't help.

Will expertly removed the ventilation tube, Connor knowing exactly when to cough hard. Thank god they were both doctors.

Will examined Connor and the monitors, happy to see everything was good. He handed Connor a cup of water, and he drank a bit. He noticed Connor was squeezing his hand tighter now.

"So, what's this about love?"

Damn, Connor had heard that. He quietly shut the door, looking apprehensive. There was only one way to say it.

"I think I love you."

The smug smile on Connor's face was enough to let Will know his feelings were not unrequited. He didn't know what to make of it. Did Connor love him like that, or just as a friend? Connor squeezed his hand tighter.

"I love love."

"What?" Will asked, wondering.

"With my synesthesia...love, the word, is not red. It's green, all different shades, blended with every other color imaginable. Love is moral, without thought. The word is bright and makes everything else look dull," Connor explained slowly. The sickness was taking its toll, and he was tired and he ached. No, he was going to finish this talk before he slept though.

"And?"

"Your name...Will. You have to understand, you, as a person have your name. The name Will won't be the same from person to person. But, well, _your_ name is green. All different shades, blended with every other color imaginable. You, like your name, are moral. You do what's right. Everyone else fades to dull colors when you're around. I think what I'm saying is..."

Will was dying to hear what Connor would finish that with. He realized he lived Connor Rhodes. Loved not liked. He had deep feelings, way beyond his looks.

"I think I love you too."

"Yeah."

It was adorably pathetic. Connor had told him he loved him, and he had said yeah. But honestly, he couldn't say anything more. Then he noticed Connor was warm.

"Hate to change the subject from our...love, but your fever is back,"

"I noticed."

Suddenly, Connor tensed, looking at Will with terror. Terror.

"Something is really wrong," he said softly, pressing his hands to his chest, breath shallow.

Will frantically checked Connor over. He swiped Connor's medical history. Oh god. Oh god, Connor had had 5 respiratory infections in the last 3 years. Shortness of breath, susceptible to infections like septic shock. He was an idiot.

Connor doubled over, coughing hard. Will quickly ran his hands over Connor's neck, confirming the swollen lymph nodes.

Connor was coughing and coughing and Will was yelling and ordering a blood panel goddamnit. Connor could be dying, he could have been dying for some time now.

And then there was blood. Connor was coughing blood. In that moment, no one needed a diagnosis. No one needed to test Connor. Will realized it, and it hit him like a freight train.

Connor Rhodes had lung cancer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! Sorry it took so long for an update, I wanted to get this right and I also really wanted to proofread this like a hawk. The next chapter will be more dialogue, this is more in Connor's head. I really wanted to write more about his feelings, and I didn't quite know how to write the end, but as it goes on, it's like he is getting more agitated. I am going to update Faults if I get a new total of 17 comments, good ones, and the ones a,ready there count too! I am also eager to do a story with Latham and a story where it includes Rhodestead/Cheese with dyslexic!Connor. Thank you, enjoy, and review!**

It poured in in gusty gales. The cards of sympathy, the helpful words. The useless medications that kept Connor alive in that hospital bed. Chemotherapy was not an option. Connor had made that clear. But with every passing day he got worse. He looked more tired, every breath was harsher, and every single smile a little more forced.

Dying, Connor realized, was not something he was eager for. Dying was cold, a dull cold grey, like cement. The days came and went, and eventually he got better. Better, of course, didn't happen. Stage four lung cancer that couldn't be treated and couldn't be operated on didn't get _better_.

But sometimes now, he would feel less tired. He could smile, a genuine smile. He went back to working, strictly cardio surgery, of course. He remembered when he tried to go back into the ED. He had scared a patient half to death. He was observing her and started coughing. She made a big scene about not wanting to be treated by someone who could cough all over her and get her sick and she didn't have time for that and he obviously had a fever and she wasn't a doctor but she could tell he was obviously sick blah blah blah, etc. In the middle of this yelling, Connor was still coughing, not very hard, but enough to rattle his lungs. The thing was, all this yelling was confusing his head. All the colors and shapes were gushing in. Maggie had rushed in with Choi and Natalie. Everyone was yelling and telling her to calm down before she ripped her stitches, which Connor had put in-very nicely too. No one noticed Connor was coughing through this whole ordeal.

When they did, after the woman was assured she would get a new doctor but there was nothing wrong with Dr. Rhodes, he was coughing even harder. He was still upright, leaning against the wall, trying to breathe between the coughs. He saw their concerned faces, asking him if he needed oxygen.

"S'fine. S'not like 'm dying," he said when he had almost caught his breath. That was the wrong thing to say. He was dying, everyone knew it. Since then, he was ordered to stay in heart surgery only.

Will had been so amazing too. He had moved in with Connor. It was partly so Connor didn't you know, die, on a random day. They rode to work together and went home together too. Will would stay with him for hours on end, as he coughed or threw up, or struggled against a merciless migraine. Will would hold his hand even when he was fine. He was in love. Damn, that hardly ever happened.

Sometimes, Connor would think about how sudden the disease was. But after a while, he realized it wasn't. It wasn't all at once, he had been coughing for months. His chest had been in constant pain, later his stomach, and then his head. He would get headaches and migraines that kept him up late until the next morning, downing Advil like it was a holy mixture to make it better. His coughs weren't new, just worse. He stifled them before, but the constant pain in his chest, the struggle for breath, that was always there. A few months after that, his stomach started hurting. Severe, sharp pains in his abdomen, near the top, almost by his rib cage. He would throw up, sometimes dry heaving until he could fall asleep.

He should have noticed the weight loss. His normally toned body got thin, to thin. He must have lost fifty pounds in six months. He should have noticed. He didn't. He was always making excuses, telling himself that it wasn't what it was. He told himself the migraines went with the synesthesia, the chest pain because it was cold, and the abdominal pain because he probably ate something bad, like, every other day.

Then he got sick. Like, cold and flu symptom sick. A fever would rage beneath his skin as he coughed his lungs out during the late hours of the night. Throwing up, chills, coughing, all leading to collapsing on the floor of his apartment, worn out, sick, and coughing blood. He was lying on the floor, just lying there. He was cold and hot, he couldn't breathe, god, what had he done.

He didn't show up for work that day, but how was he supposed know that there was a huge warehouse fire. He was just waking up when they called him. Lately, his abdomen was really, really hurting. More than usual. He answered the phone and he got up and got himself to the hospital, ignoring how much his stomach hurt and the nausea.

After that, his head pounded with every alarm. Colors were flying and shapes and damn it hurt. That led to Will and Natalie finding him in the break room, about to pass out. All he felt was pain, and then later, Will's voice telling him he loved him, cool hands holding his. God, that was pretty nice.

When he first got the news, he wasn't surprised. It all made sense, he should have seen it. He probably did, but he wanted to turn a blind eye and ignore it. Curse his stupid pride. He tried never to stay home anymore. He would constantly be at work, trying to keep his mind off his impending doom.

He was dreading telling Claire, and his father. He may hate his father, but family is family. His sister ought to know too, but Connor just didn't know how to tell them. 'Hey, I have cancer and I'll be dead in a few months' just didn't cut it. He knew that the cancer had spread to his kidneys, spleen, liver, and worst of all, brain. He knew he could die on any given day.

So he makes the call, tries to explain it over the phone in a lonely voicemail. He never got a call back. It's not that surprising, but he hopes Claire will be at his funeral. Ya' know, when he's dead, because it could be tomorrow.

It's not, but he knows it won't take long. Every day, he feels a little bit worse, his breaths get a little bitter shallower, he coughs a bit harder, his headaches get worse, and the ever present nausea and stabbing abdominal pain don't get better either.

When he collapses, that's when, that moment, is when Will decides that Connor needed to work less. He had been standing in a hallway, filling out a patient's chart, and he was overcome with coughing. Started out like what was normal now: dry coughs, followed by a few breaths. Then it got worse, and he couldn't breathe and then he was coughing blood and god he wished Will was there but he wasn't and-...blackness.

He had woken up, Will's hand clutching his tightly, in a hospital bed. Will was sleeping, fingers gripping Connor's wrist like a lifeline, just to make sure his pulse was there. Will was leaning between the hospital bed and the chair, halfway on Connor's legs, wearing Connor's jacket. Connor himself was hooked up to a full oxygen mask and an impressive array of IV antibiotics, most of which kept him numb. He never wanted to be in this situation again, but Will just there was nice. Connor fell asleep, clutching Will's hand just as tightly.

Then, when they were both awake, they talked. It wasn't yelling, or screaming, or anything. Connor marveled at the way Will took words that were a harsh, dark reds and violent navy and the darkest purple with grey splatters, and turned them into more beautiful words. It was never 'You have to.', it was 'You _have to, please!_ ', in such a desperate voice, turning greys into whites and dark to bright. Will wanted what was best for him.

But lately, Connor was wondering: What was best for Will?. Connor would be dead. Gone. Never again. Connor would never be alive again, he would never hold Will's hand, never smile at him as Will talked about his favorite movie, or song of the week. Connor would never hear Will's laughter, or watch Will smile. What would happen to Will?

He wasn't vain, thinking Will loved loved him. That was Will, the definition of loving. Will had fallen head over heals for Connor Fucking Rhodes, who was going to be dead in a matter of months. Will would be heartbroken. It was Will's thing. Everything left him shattered, and he was terrible at hiding it. Heaven forbid Will's potted plant die, because knowing Will, it was probably a gift from someone and now it was gone.

Maybe, if he stopped it right now, if he left Will, there would be less...whatever Will would feel when he was gone. Sadness? If he could stop Will from getting attached, maybe Will wouldn't take it so hard. So many maybes. But Connor knew that losing someone you love is always harder than you would ever expect. It had come down crashing when his mom died. If he hadn't gotten so attached, hell, if his father hadn't gotten so attached, maybe his life wouldn't have been hell. Maybe he wouldn't have been beaten and bruised and broken because of his father's anger. Maybe he wouldn't blame himself for everything.

Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But _maybe,_ Will is already going to feel that sadness. Maybe Will would always have taken it hard. Maybe his life was already hell before his mother died. Maybe his father was always going to be an abusive dick. Maybe, fucking maybe, his mother's depression was always hereditary, and he could never change that.

So he was left, torn and broken and abused, all his life. He can't do that to Will. No. He can't let Will ruin his own life, or someone else's. He couldn't stand to be the reason Will gets hurt. He was so goddamn sick of this, sick of guessing himself, sick of wondering about Will, sick of being so selfish, just sick because he has cancer. Cancer.

He needs to talk to Will.


	3. Chapter 3

**Heyyyyy...I know I must seem like the worst author ever...but I finished Colors! This is the last chapter, and Faults is in the works. I really hope you like it. Any suggestions for new stories? Connor hurt? Connor sick? Connor with _, who, what? Just give me suggestions!**

Connor never really wanted...this. Will was kind and caring, and always there. Connor was sick and dying. It didn't seem fair to Will, stringing him along. Of course Connor loved him, it just wasn't the time for that. It would never be the time for that.

Blue lit up his vision as he tried to find Will. He found him standing by the nurses' station, looking over a patients chart. He walked over and leaned against the wall, next to Will, who was stranded in thought.

"Hey."

Will finally looked up, looking surprised to see him.

"Hey. Is something wrong? Do you feel okay?" Will was already asking questions. It seemed fucked up that Connor would never go see Will unless he was sick. That was the root of the problem, really. When Will was gone, he felt... _better._ It was a terrible thing, but he wasn't worrying about Will when Will was gone. Worry made his headaches worse. But sometimes, it seemed like Will was only there when he was sick. When Will was there, that was when he felt worse, physically. The disease and the relationship went hand in hand.

"I feel fine."

"So what's wrong?" Will asked, eyes searching, eyebrows furrowed.

"It's just...do you ever feel like our relationship...is tied to my illness?" The second the words leave his mouth, Will looks concerned, but cold.

"No. I'd love you either way. This illness just brought us closer." Will is firm, decided.

"What about when..." Will seems to understand.

"When you...die...I will be right there, don't worry," Will says, voice only slightly shaky.

"Will. I mean...thank you, but I'm asking...It's just that when my mother died, my life was torn apart." He's trying to hint, but Will doesn't seem to get it.

"It was sad when my mom died. We all fell apart."

"I'm just asking-" His voice is getting louder, not enough for someone to hear yet, but aggressive.

"You won't be alone!"Will's voice rises with his own.

"This is not about me! This is about you!" He knows he's just angry, but Will doesn't get it. It's always Connor this and Connor that, and Connor are you feeling okay with Will's gorgeous puppy dog eyes when they are watching a movie.

Will doesn't get that it isn't about Connor, always. Connor wants to care for Will if Will is going to be there. Will deserves that.

But he also knows this is about his trust issues. He was scared that Will was going to move on without a second glance, and somewhere in his fucking selfish mind, he didn't want that.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He's muttering apologies and Will is just looking shocked.

"Ok."

* * *

They sit in silence in the break room, staring at the cream-colored wall. There's a code blue going on outside, and every cry is purple, every zap of the defibrillator red. His colors were worse today, lighting up the room in brights and darks.

It had been a day since the confrontation. Connor had worked a double, necessary, since a surgeon was gone. In just a few hours, he could go home. With Will.

Will was looking jumpy, nervous. He stared straight at the wall, lost in thought.

"What I said earlier-"

"I didn't mean-"

They both speak at the same time, facing each other, faces inches apart. He can feel Will's breath on his lips.

"I never meant to care forever, I know you love me just as much. You being here is so much, I just-"

Connor interrupts him with a kiss. Will's soft lips are on his own, and everything is green. It's not soft or sweet, it's aggressive and passionate. He knows that of course Will is sorry, and he's sorry too. It's mutual agreement without a word.

They pull apart immediately when Natalie and April come in, looking a bit shocked. They feel a bit shocked too, awkwardly pretending it didn't happen. In a silent minute, Nat starts smiling and looks over at April, who just rolls her eyes, handing Natalie a $20 bill.

"You two are so perfect for each other!" She squeals, leaving, closing the door, leaving them alone again.

"So..."

And the kissing starts again.

* * *

People didn't really understand that he wasn't getting better. He _felt_ that he was getting better, emotionally. Physically, he was deteriorating rapidly. Sometimes, now, he would just sit with Will. They would just sit, enjoying each other's company. It wasn't awkward anymore, it actually felt calming. He even took Will for a trip to New York, where they both showed each other the best parts of the city.

The one day where he knew that he had little time left was just a regular Thursday. He was tired, it had been a difficult case for the first half of his shift. He felt nauseous and frankly, gross. His head hurt, his stomach hurt, his chest hurt. As usual, but his nausea was worse today. Lately, he was coughing more, and had a bad headache 24/7.

He was just standing with Dr. Latham, consulting on a trauma case for once, yellows and reds streaking his line of sight, when a piercing pain attacked his chest. It was sharp and vicious, but nothing out of the ordinary anymore. Dr. Latham didn't notice, talking about valve replacements without puncturing the patient's lungs. He put a few strained words in, Dr. Latham looking confused. Connor was one to always have an opinion on surgery.

Suddenly, the need to throw up became all the more present. He escaped, Dr. Latham confused, and locked himself in the mens' room, chest heaving with coughs. He threw up, hands trying to keep himself from falling into his knees, refusing to look pathetic, even with no one watching. He hardly threw up anything though, because he hadn't been eating. He drank water, and he tried to eat, but whenever he did, this had happened. Now, he ate occasionally, or, as often as Will forced him to. He vomited up his breakfast, a piece of toast and coffee. Yuck.

He spent the next twenty minutes dry-heaving into the toilet. He was beyond exhausted right now, his head splitting open with an intense migraine, and the force of his coughs shaking his body. He was cold and warm and uncomfortable. A pound on the door and some gray curse words shook him out of his agony induced haze, as he realized Will was banging on the door. He just groaned.

Will took that as a sign to pick the lock. Half a minute later, Will's cool hands were gracing his forehead and his chest. He leaned against the side of the stall, ready to sleep. Will was muttering something, but Connor just coughed, not comprehending through the pain. Will stopped talking, understanding about his migraine. Connor realized that Will had taken his shirt off in an effort to cool his temperature. He glanced at Will, who was absentmindedly brushing Connor's dark hair with his fingers, long legs in a crossed position.

He vaguely wonders what Dr. Latham thinks, but his mind is more on how much pain he's in. Sleep would be good. Sleep. Please. But he doesn't, because from a doctor's point of view, that sleep, or unconsciousness, would be bad.

He shifts a bit, the motion making him dizzy, increasing his pain. Will stands up, thinking that it's just one of Connor's episodes. Usually he'll throw up for ten minutes and then look tired, but he could get up. Will doesn't know that this time, it's really bad. He tries anyway, getting to his feet, but violent pain stabs him in the chest again, and all the lights go dark as his vision fades out, and he suddenly becomes nauseous again. His knees don't support him. Will catches him before he passes out, concerned eyes and a furrowed brow showing his confusion. His vision is speckled with black splotches, as he lays, gasping for breath, in Will's arms.

* * *

He had been admitted to he hospital, tests and scans showing what he had already know, the cancer was become more violent, and his body was fighting back harder than ever. He probably had a month left, maybe two. He dreaded the faces of his coworkers, looking at his scans and crying. It was touching, really, how they cared for him.

He attended Jay and Erin's wedding with Will, smiling, feeling better than he had for a long time. 2 weeks in, maybe 4-6 left. Huh. The little time made him savor more moments, like when Will was asleep, a small smile spreading across his peaceful face.

His colors were brighter now, stronger than ever. He went to work, functioning as well as he could for someone who had a little time left to live. He had good cases and bad ones, but he took more time to smile at his patients, to enjoy their life. He had one patient who passed away from a heart defect, and his absent brother had flown in from Germany to see him. It was heart-breaking, so red and blue.

People didn't get it sometimes. Something was red and blue, not just purple. Yellow and green, not light green. Most of the time, nobody mentioned his synesthesia, but he felt it kept him in touch with people. Just by the way they said a sentence, he could tell if they were stressed or angry or feeling emotion. Chicago, with its yellow of the subway, to its speckled magenta street noise, was a city brimming with colors. He enjoyed it, fully.

That was the reason he held on. In his last months, he enjoyed the world as it was, embracing his colors, looking at and reading people. Enjoying Will. His laugh, his smile, his loyalty, his eyes.

* * *

Will knew it was normal, to have fevers like this. It was the week leading up to New Years. He was well aware that the time limit Connor's oncologist set was drawing to a close, but he had loved Christmas. But, on Sunday, Connor was feverish. It was normal. He got it to go down. His fever stayed up at 102.5 degrees, sometimes increasing, the decreasing. He hadn't gone to work, he was just staying with Connor, who slept most of the day, coughing and hardly breathing and looking pained.

On Wednesday, Connor was worse. His coughs were constant, he threw up, he was a feverish mess. Ice water, a draft, medication, nothing worked to keep this rising fever down.

* * *

He had been lying here, sick, tired, dying, for days. _Dying._ He knew it, but Will wouldn't accept it. He didn't want to die, fuck, nobody wanted to die. But it was Thursday when it all went to shit.

Will was lying next to him, not quite asleep, holding Connor's hand. It was late, maybe 11:30. He had been in more pain today than ever. Suddenly, a sharp coughing attack left him breathless, gasping and wiping the blood from his mouth. His constant agony, his exhaustion. He wanted to give up. Why couldn't he give up?

"Will," he gasped out, trying to stay grounded. Will was already leaning over him, gently trying to cool his fever again.

"Will. I-I- I think I'm dying."

"No, you're not. You're going to be fine!" Will's crying, shaking his head, denying what they both knew.

"I'm scared."

Will was crying hard, tears streaming down his face. Green, green, blue.

"You don't...Don't be scared. I love you," Will says, biting his lip through his tears, so scared.

"Are you going to forget..."

The question dies on his lips, because he knows, he fucking knows, that Will could never move on, even if he wanted to, even if he tried forever. Will couldn't forget him.

"I-I-I want to do s-s-something. I love you so much." Will's voice is shaky as he runs a trembling hand across Connor's pale face.

"It's okay. You can't." He says it softly, gently, because he feels at peace now, somehow.

Will just kisses him, softly, and he notices his colors are gone. He sees nothing, no green or gray. It's the end, and it's perfectly _fine._ It's surprising how fine it is, that he's dying here, now, at this age. But he feels calm, as he pulls away from the kiss softly. He smiles a bit, his breath hitching and slowing, and he can feel that his fever has decreased.

"I love you."

He can hear the fireworks outside their window, signaling the New Year, as his vision fades to black.


End file.
